


Alone!Verse

by trinipedia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fanfiction, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, Gift Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-27
Updated: 2008-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinipedia/pseuds/trinipedia
Summary: My slightly retorted interpretation of how season 2 could have ended. With a few surprises here and there and my Wincest googles, obviously.No, Dean, really. You don't have to answer right now. Take your time to think about it, ok? I just wanted you to know.





	1. Prologue - Sammy (alone)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not mine in any way, shape or form. Characters and setups belong to Eric Kripke and the CW. Songs inspiring the different chapters belong to their writers and interpreters. Specific disclaimers on each part.
> 
>  **Written for:** [ wiccaqueen ](http://wiccaqueen.livejournal.com/) because I love her, worship her and adore her.
> 
>  **IMPORTANT NOTE:** for fictional purposes, the burning down of the Roadhouse has NOT happened. Ash is still there, like everyone else, and the other phone call he gave Dean never happened either. HEAVY SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 FINALE + 3RD SEASON.

_Cough._  
**"Sammy, I-"  
** "No, Dean, really. You don't have to answer right now. Take your time to think about it, ok? I just wanted you to know."  
Shrug.  
**"Well, since we're in front of a diner, I'll go pick up some food."  
** "Don't forget the pie!"  
Slam.  
Stupid dorky Sammy. You should let people speak, sometimes.  
  
Dean sat next to the mattress where his brother was laying.  
Still.  
In the beginning everything felt so unreal he wasn't sure it was really happening; it took the dead weight of Sam's body in his arms to get it.  
He was gone.  
His little brother, the one he was supposed to protect, was gone.  
And he couldn't save him.  
The only thing he really wanted to do was lay down next to him and close his eyes, because nothing else mattered, not then, not ever.  
"I never decided to feel this good with you" he whispered, his eyes closed and hidden behind his hands.  
"I never chose your face, and I didn't even know why I kept dreaming of it. I always have, way before you left for Stanford, way before it was healthy, way before...everything. I never chose to think about you all the time, I never wanted to be unable to stop doing so.  
I never told you about all the times I cried, all the times I hated you for making me feel this way. I never told you about all the times I faked being someone I'm not, because I needed to be strong for you. And Sammy, I never told you-"  
The words got stuck in his throat, and he coughed lightly, trying to force them out.  
  
_Tick. Tack. Tick. Tack._  
**What the hell are you doing, Sam? How long can it take to get a couple of burgers and some pie?! God, you're really a freak.  
** You're probably chitchatting with the waitress, but not with the one I would talk to (because I'd NEVER chitchat), no. You're probably all focused on the chubby lady, that's probably mooning over you like a mother hen would over a wet puppy.  
It's getting darker and darker, here, and I'm starting to feel that something isn't right.  
Then the radio starts rumbling with static and I freeze. First thing I do is try to call you on your cellphone: I can't burst into a diner with a gun in my hand without being sure that something's wrong, now, can I? You would never let me live it down.  
But you don't answer, and the second time I try the call goes straight to the voicemail. That's when I stumble out of the car, gun ready and cold sweat drenching the back of my shirt.  
Time seems to have slowed down, and I don't know why, but the closer I get to the diner's door the more I'd like to never get there. I swallow noisily, and turn the knob.  
Click.  
  
Dean sighed, looking back at Sam's face, and trying stubbornly to ignore the tears running erratically all over his cheeks.  
He could almost see it: the boy that killed his little brother moved stiffly, so probably Sam had a fight with him, and he won.  
He could have killed the guy, but he didn't. Sam simply hadn't in him what it took to kill someone, even if that someone stabbed him cowardly from behind in the end.  
He suspected that even if Sam had known, he wouldn't have been able to kill him anyway.  
"I've never truly been able to share your faith in people and life, you know" Dean whispered at the empty room, that was quickly darkening. Sam had always been a better man. That was part of his charms.  
"I've never even truly smiled to you. You know why? Because I've always been scared of what you'd see in my smile."  
Now that everything was over, now that he was facing his worst nightmare, Dean didn't have the strength to hide his feelings anymore.  
"I told you "I love you", more than once, more than it was normal or even right to, but I never told you I was _in love_ with you, even if I thought about it many times. I thought about us, about how would it be like to be together, allowed to touch you, kiss you, worship you, give you all I needed you to give me. When I needed you, I never showed it. I thought that, somehow, you would have thought less of me if I did."  
The sob that shook him whole didn't surprise him as much as it should have.  
  
_Wham._  
Thump.  
Crash.  
**I fall on my knees, and I don't care who sees me.  
** I'm shaking, and I'm probably as pale as hell, but I. Don't. Care.  
You're gone.  
You were not in there, there was only blood, and death, and flesh smelling like it's gone rotten already.  
What now? What am I supposed to do?  
My mind plays tricks on me, and I can only think about your face, your smile, your hands and your eyes and not being able to see you again.  
I think about how long I have wanted to touch your lips and hold you tight.  
I think about how long I have waited, only looking, thinking that I would have never been able to touch you, and how happy and warm I felt inside while I was waiting for you to come out of that damn diner.  
I was going to tell you tonight, Sammy. But the secret is still my own, and my love for you is still unknown. You'll never know about it.  
And that's what hurts the most, because I always got by on my own, until now, I never really cared about attachment, commitment, relationships, and now...now the loneliness chills me to the bone. Dammit, Sammy. God.  
Drip.  
Drip.  
  
Dean stood up, and walked closer to the mattress.  
He felt like drowning.  
"I've never truly let you in" his voice sounded broken, raw, filled with pain.  
"I tried to protect myself, but now I've got the horrible suspicion that..."  
Dean sat next to his brother's body, as close as he could get, like he was trying to pass some of his warmth to him.  
He shook his head, while a sad smile appeared on his face.  
"No, screw that. I've got the absolute certainty that you came in on your own anyway. Like you always did, you bitch. Taking what you wanted and then looking at me with that kicked puppy expression that made me impossible to deny it to you."  
His trembling fingers went to slowly caress Sam's cold cheek, then he stood up, a resolute expression on his face. He walked towards the bedroom door and then stopped, talking slowly without turning back, as if he knew that looking at Sam one more time would have made his resolution crumble.  
"I have to do something. I know that you'll probably be freakishly mad at me, but God, Sammy, I-"  
He clenched his fist.  
"-I never said yes."  
  
__**  
**"Hey, Dean, listen to me one second."  
Snort.  
**"I mean it. This is important."**  
Music turned off.  
**"Thank you."**  
Shrug.  
**"Dean, I was thinking. I-I'd like to kiss you."**  
Screech.  
**"Dean, what the fuck? Are you crazy?!"**  
Blink.  
**"Is not like our family has ever been normal, after all. We've been fucked up since day one. And you're the only person that matters in my life, so I guess is just 'normal' that I want to share everything with you. Not likely I'd have the chance of stuck in the same place long enough to know someone else to fall in love with. Besides-"**  
Blush.  
**"Besides, I think I've always been in love with you, you know. I'd simply like to give us a chance."**  
Cough.  
**"Sammy, I-"  
** "No, Dean, really. You don't have to answer right now. Take your time to think about it, ok? I just wanted you to know."  
Shrug.  
**"Well, since we're in front of a diner, I'll go pick up some food."  
** "Don't forget the pie!"  
Slam.  
Stupid dorky Sammy. You should let people speak, sometimes.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Selling and bargaining (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Hey, Dean, you know I've never been a hunter, but I've been around and I know people, and even if I've never graduated, I studied, that's why I can help ya now. Be careful, they'll fucking tear you apart if you don't have anything to offer at the market."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Dedications:** written for [ eryslash ](http://eryslash.livejournal.com/) because she squeed profusely while I talked about the plot and she didn't tell me I'm crazy. XD And part of it belongs to [ wiccaqueen ](http://wiccaqueen.livejournal.com/) because she's so amazingly unbelievable that I'm still trying to cope with the fact that she wrote Almost Lovers and Bathtub Tales and still she TALKS to me.
> 
> **Disclaimers:** they're not mine. Not a thing about them is, apart from my obsession. That's all mine XD  
>  Fic inspired by "Venderò" (I'll sell), an Italian song by Edoardo Bennato.
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE:** for fictional purposes, the burning down of the Roadhouse has NOT happened. Ash is still there, like everyone else (even if he's the only one I care about XD) and the other phone call he did to Dean never happened either.

"Bring him back."  
His voice sounds so distressed that he has to close his eyes for a second to get some of his usual cool back in place.  
This is most definitely not the right time to show his weakness.  
"Just give me ten years. Ten years of life, then you come for me and my soul will be yours."  
The demon's red eyes are open wide.  
"You're joking, right?"  
"Ok, ok, 9. 8 years, damnit!"  
She keeps shaking her head while he talks, amused by the display.  
"No way."  
Dean clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times, before speaking again.   
"5 years." His voice breaks. "This is my last offer, 5 years or no deal."  
The demon looks at him for a long instant, like evaluating his offer, then gets close, so close that Dean can feel her warm breath on his cheek.  
"Then no deal."  
She shrugs and giggles, stepping back.   
"I suggest you bury Sam's body before it starts to rotten" she adds, starting to walk away.  
Dean needs just a second before calling her back.  
"Wait."  
The demon turns and gets back near him.  
"What do I have to do?" he asks, not even trying to hide his pain anymore.  
She sighs.   
"I have a weak spot for you, Dean. I could really get in trouble for this, but what the heck. I'll give you one year, and one year only. But here's the thing: if you try to break the contract in any way, Sam dies and goes back to rotten meat in no time."  
Dean flinches. One year is most definitely not enough.  
The demon crosses her arms on her chest.  
"This is a better deal than your dad ever got, you know. But if it's still not good enough for you and you want to try different options, be my guest. I'll be here, if you you change your mind. Or maybe I should just say _when_ you do."  
She snickers and disappears, just as Dean's phone rings.  
With shaking fingers, he presses the answering button.  
"Yeah?"  
"Dude!"  
Ash sounds happy.  
"I think I found something, you know, something that will most certainly help you get Sam back with us. Whaddaya say?"  
Dean feels a tiny sparkle of hope igniting inside of his chest.  
"I'm listening."  
"Uh-uh, man this is bigger than anything I've ever seen, and I can't talk about it on the phone. Come over here, like, one hour ago."  
Dean shakes his head, even though Ash can't see him.  
"Ash, listen carefully. I almost did the greatest mistake of my life because I haven't talk to you sooner, and if you don't tell me all about it right now, I'm going to give that mistake a second go, so. Talk."  
Ash sighs.  
"Whoa, chill, buddy. Ok, listen: looks like there's some kind of evil market, going on, you can access it from any crossroads. If you tell me where you are I can point you towards the closer one."  
"No, I'm...er, near one right now."  
He knows he sounds suspicious, but if Ash notices it, he doesn't show it and goes on.  
"Yeah, ok. No weapons allowed, and no evil creature will harm you in there if you're shielded properly. I don't know why, is like a neutral zone, where you can go and ask for help.  
Ellen would probably kill me if she knew I'm telling you this, but the market is still a step below a deal, and we all know we don't want you to make a deal, right?"  
Dean shifts his feet, uncomfortably.  
His silence is loud enough for Ash. He's probably connecting his closeness to a crossroads with the fact that he's not answering. When he speaks again, his voice is softer than Dean has ever heard it.  
"Hey, Dean, you know I've never been a hunter, but I've been around and I know people, and even if I've never graduated, I studied, that's why I can help ya now. Be careful, they'll fucking tear you apart if you don't have anything to offer at the market."  
"Anything like what?"  
Dean can almost see Ash shrugging.  
"Anything, man. From material things to feelings, from pieces of clothes to emotions. Anything worth selling or bargaining. They won't talk to you if you don't offer them something beforehand."  
He looks at his discarded clothes, thinks about his soul, so tarnished that even the devil doesn't really want it, but nods nonetheless to himself.  
"I'll find something."  
"Good."  
Next, Ash explains the ritual to open the portal that will get him to the market, and Dean writes it all down. Eventually, Ash stops speaking.  
"Ash, I- I can't thank you enough."  
The guy snorts. "Hey, don't mention it, man. I'll take a rain check. Oh, one last thing: once you're out of the market, you won't remember anything that happened over there. So be careful."  
Dean assures him he will.  
"I'll drop by to see you" he says.  
"With Sam" Ash adds.  
Dean's heart stings.  
"Yeah, with Sam."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Coming Down From:** [ Nekane's shop ](https://www.google.com/maps?q=Nekane%27s+shop)  
> **Clawed Chained Heart:** mischievous  
>  **Under The Spell Of:** Good day  
> 


	3. Selling and bargaining (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has a price, but no one will ever know the price of my freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Dedications:** this belongs to [ wiccaqueen ](http://wiccaqueen.livejournal.com/) because she's so amazingly unbelievable that I'm still trying to cope with the fact that she wrote Almost Lovers and Bathtub Tales and still TALKS to me. She's also going to do something with this THING and I am simply in awe. So, yeah. Any error is because of her. *snickers* Oh, by the way: she's also the one who chooses if this ficlet ends in hopeless angst or if I should add an happier note at the end...  
>  I'd like to dedicate this second part to [ phanie28 ](http://phanie28.livejournal.com/) because she has been simply adorable <3
> 
> **Disclaimers:** They're not mine. Not a thing about them is, apart from my obsession. That's all mine XD  
>  Fic inspired by "Venderò" (I'll sell), an Italian song by Edoardo Bennato.
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE:** for fictional purposes, the burning down of the Roadhouse has NOT happened. Ash is still there, like everyone else (even if he's the only one I care about XD) and the other phone call he did to Dean never happened either. HEAVY SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 FINALE + 3RD SEASON!!

The first thing Dean notices, even before he opens his eyes, is the smell.  
Is not a bad smell, per se, like he was expecting it to be: some sulfur, that's par for the course, but apart from it, nothing else.  
Like, there is _no_ smell in the air.  
No rotten meat, no burnt skin, no blood. Nothing.  
He opens tentatively his eyes, and is greeted with a long dirt road. On both sides of it, multiple grey stalls hidden by thick curtains. All in all, it looks like any other market, and that would maybe fool him, if the stalls weren't so clearly empty and the sky didn't look so red and the air didn't fell so thick, charged with anticipation.  
Everything is silent, still, like waiting for his move.  
Dean swallows, before pushing his fists deep into his leather jacket's pockets.  
As soon as he places his first step on the road, something clicks and people start walking up and down around him, even if none of them says a single word.  
Approaching a nearby stall, he tries to remember everything Ash told him about the market.  
  
 _Let your instinct guide you. Is the only help you're gonna get. You won't have enough time to talk with everyone in there, so you'll simply have to follow the path your senses will trace for ya. Once you reach the one you feel like going in, bow, enter and place your offer in front of you. If **it** considers it good enough, you'll be allowed to talk. Choose your words carefully: the fact that no one has ever been hurt before doesn't mean no one will ever be._  
  
He feels a strong vibration coming from there, and he simply knows that's the place. He breaths deeply, pulls back the curtains and enters.  
  
 _I'll sell my new shoes to an old scarecrow, to see if he moves, if he keeps still or if he follows me._  
  
It is dark inside, so dark that it takes a little for his eyes to get used to it, and when they do he instantly wishes they didn't: in front of him, still on his wooden cross, there's the scarecrow.  
The one Sam and him killed way back. Or at least they thought they did. His fingers twitch, instinctively going for his knife, before he remembers he doesn't have it.  
He's unarmed.   
Dean is glad for the darkness, now, because he's sure he's so pale that the pagan god would totally take advantage of his current state if he knew.  
He clears his throat, then, slowly, bows at the cross.  
Nothing happens.  
He carefully slips out of his shoes, the new pair he bought just the day before Sam disappeared, and places them in front of the cross.  
He keeps still, waiting, until there's a rustling sound, and when he looks up, the scarecrow is standing in front of him, his expressionless face turned appreciatively towards the shoes.  
Dean considers it as his cue, and starts talking, slow, almost whispering.  
"Bring him back. I beg of you. I-I need him. We won't hunt you, I swear, we won't look for you, you'll be free to go, just...please. Bring him back."  
He puts a hand around his neck, his throat sore as if he just screamed those words, and stares at the scarecrow during endless seconds. Finally, the pagan god shrugs and slowly shakes his head.  
Dean can feel his heart cracking.  
He opens his mouth to speak, to beg him some more, but the scarecrow simply lift an arm in warning and climbs up the cross once again.  
Dean swallows his tears, bows once again, as he's supposed to, and leaves, his fingers gripping his shoes so tightly his knuckles go white.   
_It was just the beginning,_ he thinks, _there's still hope left._  
  
 _I'll sell my graduation papers to some progress seeker, so that he can build some kind of upgraded human being that will give him more money and success._  
  
The next stall he feels attracted to looks more like a lab, he thinks as soon as he crosses the threshold. Unlike the scarecrow's place, there's light in here. Neon light, but still.  
And bent on a wooden table there's a man, with grey hair and a brown sweater, worn out on the elbows, but a **man** nonetheless, and Dean feels relief washing over him.  
He bows.  
"Excuse me, sir, I'd like to have a word" he says, smiling, as polite as he can manage, but the relief and the smile freeze on his face when the man looks at him. The skin of his face is crumpled, like a shirt that no one thought about ironing. Multiple scars run over his face, deep and purple, and he looks like he's been... _patched?_ His left cheek is slightly yellow, while his forehead is milky white. Even his hair look fake, and only one of his blue eyes is piercing and alive. The other looks...glassy.  
There are stitches running all over his body: Dean can see his neck, his hands and part of his arms, where he pulled up the sleeves.  
He wears a leather apron, sprayed with some dark thick liquid that looks a lot like-  
Dean swallows audibly and the man snorts.  
"What were you expecting, uh? An old man like any other? What would I be doing here if I were one?"  
He can't answer to that, mainly because the man's right. What was he thinking?  
After a few seconds, the man drops the iron pincers he was holding and crosses his patched, slim arms.  
"So? I believe you have something for me?"  
Dean hesitates, but then drops the item on the table.  
The man comes closer to take a better look at it: it's a pretty thick journal, with a clear leather cover and papers of different colours sticking out.  
"Oh, my" the man says, chuckling "John Whinchester's journal. What a delicious irony." He turns to look at Dean, his eye lightening up. "I take you're Dean, then."  
Dean looks confused and the smile on the man's face turns into a sickening grin.  
"I'm Doctor Benton, Dean. Your dad tried to kill me, took my heart out. It was pretty hard to replace it, you know."  
Dean's eyes widen, while he remembers. He has read about the immortal doctor in the journal.  
The only man that found out how it's possible to live for ever, simply replacing the parts that got damaged along the way.  
Some part of him rejoices: that means Sam can be saved! Then he looks at the man again, and something clenches in his chest.  
How could he possibly put Sam through that? His Sam, that hadn't been able to kill who really deserved it, how could he possibly live knowing that to keep on living he'd have to sacrifice many other innocent ones along the way?  
So, he's the one that shakes his head now, picking the journal from the table, and bowing one last time, before retreating.  
The doctor's eyes shine with fury. He wanted the journal, but he can't take it if they don't bargain or Dean gives it to him willingly. And Dean will be damned if he does.  
"You'll come back to me, Dean" he shouts while he walks away. "Someday you'll need my help, and I'll be the only one that'll be able to save you. We'll see if you'll still be this ethical, then."  
Dean tries to avoid thinking that he's probably right again.  
  
 _To some merchant of the unknown I'll sell my foolishness; she'll probably keep me on the side, because who's normal will never truly understand._  
  
Dean looks skeptically at the woman sat in front of him.  
She has long dark blond hair, big eyes and soft, round features, a slim, tonic body and long legs crossed in front of her.  
She could be really pretty, if she didn't have that cold expression. In a different situation, Dean would have probably hit on her nonetheless. Not now, though, he doesn't even really see her.  
Her stall actually looks like a real one, with crafts, clothing, bric-a-brac, amulets, strange bottles and other things he doesn't know anything about.  
"Can I help you?" she snaps at him.  
"Ok, _what_ are you? A shapeshifter, a demon, a spirit, what?" Dean says back, in the same defensive tone, glaring at her.  
The woman takes a good look at him and then smiles charmingly.  
"None of the above. I'm Bela. Bela Talbot. And I'm a human being, exactly as you are. Well, probably way better than you are, but that's beside the point. What are you doing here?"  
His shoulders sag, while the weight of what was expecting him back in his world went all back on him.  
"I have to save my brother" he says.  
Bela arches an eyebrow.  
"You didn't even bow the way you were supposed to" she points out.  
Dean clenches his jaw and complies. He can't stand this woman, she's...evil, in a way that's different from the supernatural creatures he's used to deal with.  
"Better" she says, with a mocking smile. "Now, how do you think you're going to pay for my help?"  
Dean snorts.  
"Can you even help?" he retorts.  
Bela's eyes sparkle.  
"Oh, you'd be surprised" she answers. "I know a lot about a lot of things. So, what are you willing to bargain?"  
Dean looks straight into her eyes.  
"Myself."  
She blinks a couple of times.  
"I beg you pardon?"  
He shrugs. "I've seen the way you look at me. I know I'm well equipped, and I can assure you I know how to use what I have. You can do whatever you want with me, just- bring my brother back." He's pretty proud of the way his voice kept cool while speaking.  
Bela narrows her eyes.  
"Do you like me?"  
Dean bites his lower lip. She actually disgust him, but it's not like he can say that. He can't state the opposite either, though, so he doesn't answer.  
She giggles, and her laughter sounds like nails on a blackboard. Dean flinches.  
"Let me get this straight. You think I want to fuck you, you're good at it and you think that would be enough to buy your brother's life back? Are you kidding me?! Do you really think I'm that desperate? I can have all the studs I want, I'm not going to pick one that is not even willing to sleep with me! Besides, I don't like second hand articles. I usually go for first class stuff, no offense."  
Dean is actually shaking with rage.  
Does she actually understand how much it had cost him to offer himself that way? He has always been bold and self confident, but this was different.  
He put all on the line and still she-  
"You don't understand" he tries to explain "my brother-my brother is all I have left. Is the only thing that keeps me sane, and I need him. I can't-I can't go on without him. _Please._ " The last word is spitted, his head hangs down and his cheeks are burning. Dean thinks he can feel unshed tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.  
Bela looks taken aback by the display of desperation, but after a moment she sighs, waving her hand in front of her face like she's trying to cast a fly.  
"Sorry, kiddo, no can't do. You're simply not worth enough for what you're asking for. The items I have, the ones I sell, had been pretty hard to obtain and there are persons ready to pay a great deal to save their loved ones. A great deal of _money,_ mind me. So." She smiles seductively at him.  
"We could fuck anyway, though, if you're up for it."  
Dean's fury probably shows on his face, because she steps back.  
"One day you'll pay for this, you bitch." Dean mutters before walking away, not even bothering to bow.   
"I know" Bela whispers once he's gone, while something like regret flickers in her eyes. That day is closer than Dean imagines.  
  
  
 _I'll sell my rage to some good man, that'd like to see me in chains and only then would, maybe, consider me funny._  
  
It only makes sense that the person greeting him from the entrance of the last stall of the market is the trickster.  
The semi-god, the mighty, the oh so powerful trickster.  
The only one that can maybe do something.  
Dean bows, and the trickster arches an eyebrow.  
"No way! Dean?!" he covers the distance between them with few, quick steps and grabs his shoulder in a friendly way. "How are you, man?"  
Dean blinks, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed.  
He wasn't expecting a warm welcome, mainly from a creature he tried to dispose of.  
"I'm...uh...not bad, I guess" he mutters, looking anywhere else but in the man's sparkling eyes.  
However, the trickster looks at him, expectantly. When Dean adds nothing, he blinks as well.  
"Why don't you ask me how I am? Oh, wait. I know why. You're still shocked because you thought I was dead. Well, news flash for you: you can't kill a god. Surprise!"  
"Yeah, about that. I-er..." Dean stops himself before he can say something really, _really_ stupid. Like saying he's sorry to have tried to kill him. He's not, for God's sake, the dude kills people for kicks!  
The trickster gets it nonetheless, and shakes vigorously his head.  
"Don't apologize just to try softening me up" he says, grinning.  
The atmosphere is so relaxed and friendly that Dean almost forgets who the man he's talking with is and why he's talking to him in the first place.  
All changes though as soon as the trickster gets closer and whispers secretively in his hear: "So, in the end you couldn't protect him."  
Reality comes back full force.  
"No, I couldn't" Dean replies, biting his lower lip so hard it bleeds.  
"I suppose that's why you're here. You want him back, don't you?"  
Dean looks taken aback by the question.  
"Wasn't there a protocol I was supposed to follow? Like, offering you what I wanted to bargain, and then-"  
"Oh, come on, Dean, we're friends! Leave all the formalities! Besides, it would be useless to get you all worked up when the answer is no."  
Everything around him crumbles at those words.  
"Is that for the-the _killing_ thing?" he asks, feeling so utterly stupid.  
Of _course_ that's the reason, you twit! Is not likely a god would help someone who tried to wipe him off the map.  
"You'd deserve that" the trickster says "but no, that's not it. I simply can't help you because that's not how things are supposed to be."  
"What do you mean?" Dean asks again, he doesn't understand, but there's something in the trickster's eyes that tells him he's sincere.  
The god looks at him for a moment, then sighs deeply and shakes his head.  
"Sam was not supposed to die, you know. Fate has big plans for your boy. His death could jeopardize it all."  
Dean opens his mouth to speak, but the trickster talks before he has a chance to.  
"He was not supposed to die. You are."  
Is like he's drunk, high and fatally hurt at the same time. Pain stings from everywhere in his body, his head feels numb and dizzy and he can't focus.  
He's supposed to-  
On the trickster's face appears a sad smile.  
"You are supposed to die for him. He's the one that has to keep going on, not you. Neither both. That's the reason why I can't accept anything you can give me in exchange for Sam's life: I'm not the one that can give it back. Not this time."  
Dean hangs his head in shame. He tried everything he could, he did everything he could think of, but time is passing by and if he isn't quick enough even if he finds a way for Sam to come back to life he won't have a body to go back into.  
He failed his brother.  
And his father.  
A tear burns her way down his cheek, and when he looks up all he can see is thin mist and four streets departing around him.  
The crossroads.  
  
 _I'll sell my defeat to the one who needs to feel stronger, and like an old painting you hide in your basement I'll entertain her by telling her all about my bad luck._  
  
"So, did you have fun?"  
The voice of the demon startles him. He has a deep, intense feeling of failure that he can't explain.  
Then he remembers. The market. The market that was supposed to save Sam, the market he knew he was not going to remember anything about after leaving it.   
But since he's back at the crossroads, Sam's still dead. Nothing he had to offer was valuable enough. He should have known.  
The demon comes closer.  
"Are you ready to discuss things like a grown-up now? Are you done playing around?"  
Dean clenches his fists and nods briefly.  
This is his last hope.  
"One year. No welching or weaseling your wait out of the deal or Sam drops dead all over again. Wherever, whenever." she gives him a quick summary of what she's offering, and he can't even hear her properly, his blood rumbling into his ears.  
"So, what do you say?"  
He looks straight into her eyes, a moment, and he takes his decision, grabbing her neck and crashing his lips on hers.  
She moans and kisses him back.  
  
***  
  
While he drives back to where his little brother is, his heart beating like crazy in his chest, his last coherent thought, before his mind's filled of thoughts of Sam, is: _Everything has a price, but no one will ever know the price of my freedom. Especially **him**._  
  
TO BE CONTINUED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Coming Down From:** [ home (screaming at babybunny) ](https://www.google.com/maps?q=home+\(screaming+at+babybunny\))  
> **Clawed Chained Heart:** sleepy  
>  **Under The Spell Of:** joanna Out from Under


	4. Wish I could stay (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't want the only thing he craved for all of his life to come with an expiration date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Dedications:** this belongs to [ wiccaqueen ](http://wiccaqueen.livejournal.com/) because she's incredible, amazing, sweet and the nicest person alive. May also be because she's making PODCAST of all the parts. *giggles*
> 
> **Disclaimers:** They're not mine. Not a thing about them is, apart from my obsession. That's all mine XD  
>  Fic inspired by "Under your spell/Standing Reprise", from Buffy the vampire slayer musical episode's OST.
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE:** HEAVY SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 FINALE!!

Sam's eyes snapped open, his breathing difficult while his lungs burned like he had just drank a bottle of bleach.  
His brain needed a few seconds to process it all, while he took in his surroundings: he was in an empty room, sitting on an old mattress, and _was that blood spattered on his shirt?_  
As soon as his brain came out with the answers he was craving, Sam groaned loudly, while his heart pumped blood with all his strength, like it wanted to prove him he was alive.  
He. Was. Alive.  
"Fuck, Dean" he muttered, rage burning as much as the air he was breathing. When he felt a little bit more confident, he stood up, slowly, and went directly towards the mirror on the wall. He turned and stiffly removed his shirt, to check on his back, and there it was. The scar. A scar where there was not supposed to be any, vital functions in a body that was supposed to be salt'n'burned by now.  
But he was there, **it** was there, itching proof of his brother's love for him.  
That was what hurt the most: that love, the only thing he ever wanted, was what doomed his brother, and he should have known, he should have seen it coming, dammit, he was smarter than that!  
How could he think that Dean was going to let him go that easily after what he said to him before going to meet his destiny?  
He knew he shouldn't have said it, he knew that it would have been better to take that secret with him, but...he had wanted him to know. Just one, little thing for himself.  
And he screwed it up.  
Who knew what Dean had done! He scrambled for his cellphone, thought about calling Ash, or Bobby, they would have probably known about it, but how was he going to convince them he really was Sam, he really was back and he hoped he could find a way to go back to dead as soon as possible so that Dean was not going to?  
No, too complicated. He was better off waiting for Dean, because he was surely going to check on him as soon as he did whatever it was that he had done, and deal with it all then. Even if he was feeling exhausted, he couldn't go back on the mattress, not if he wanted to be awake when Dean came back, so he kept watching the scar, hoping the stinging pain will help his consciousness, with a numb fuzziness in his head and a permanent ache in his chest.  
  
*****  
  
Dean stumbled into the room, and his eyes lightened up, when they stopped on him.  
"Sammy? Thank God" he muttered, covering the distance between them in few quick steps and hugging his brother against him as tight as he could.  
"Ouch. Dean."   
Sam's face contracted in pain, and Dean untangled their bodies, blushing slightly.   
"Sorry, man, I'm just happy to see you up and around that's all. Come on, sit down."  
"Ok" Sam answered, ignoring the sting in his chest at Dean's words and sitting on the mattress.  
After a couple of seconds, Dean sat next to him.  
"Dean, what happened to me?" he asked, trying not to sound accusing.  
Dean blinked, like he was surprised he asked, but he caught himself quickly. "Well, what do you remember?"  
Sam tried to separate his knowledge from his memories, so to avoid saying something he's not supposed to know yet.  
"I-I saw you and Bobby and-then I felt this pain, this sharp pain, like white hot, you know?" he waited for Dean to nod, before going on "-and then you started running at me, and that's about it."  
Yeah, that should have been good.  
Dean sighed, probably sorting through his own memories too.  
"Yeah, that kid stabbed you in the back. You lost a lot of blood, you know, it was pretty touch and go for a while."  
Sam arched an eyebrow. Dean really thought he would buy it?  
"Dean, you can't patch up a wound that bad" he said, not hiding the accusation in his tone now, but still Dean tried to cover it up.  
"No, Bobby could" he answered quickly.   
"Do you really care? Right now?" he whispered, a hand cupping his brother's face. "Because I don't."  
He dived in and simply covered Sam's mouth with his, a chaste kiss, nothing more, but Sam felt like crying, because his heart was telling him that whatever happened, whatever Dean had done, it had been worth it.  
And he couldn't be that selfish twice.  
He broke the kiss, his breathing faltering and his cheeks flushed, like he just ended the heaviest make out session he had ever been involved in, pushing Dean back with a trembling hand on his chest.  
Sam was not going to have any of it. Figured that his brother was going to try and change the topic, but that was not the right moment, and he knew that.  
"Actually, I do. Dean, listen to me, that guy, Jake, he's a psychic like me. Did you get him?" he saw Dean trying to get closer to him, and stopped him with a cold glare.  
"No, we-we didn't. You were dying, dude, is not like we had time to focus on anything else."  
"Then we have to go" Sam concluded, trying to stand and failing.  
Dean grabbed him and forced him back onto the mattress.  
"Whoa, whoa, easy, Van Damme. Hey, you just woke up: let's get you something to eat. You want something to eat? I'm starving. Come on."  
Sam looked at Dean moving towards the other room, where the kitchen was, and felt a sharp sting of guilt passing through him.  
Dean looked like death warmed over, he probably didn't sleep or eat at all while he was...gone.  
He sighed and followed him slowly.  
 _What am I supposed to do?_  
  
*****  
  
They ate in silence, after he had briefly related what had happened to him during the last few days, and Dean seemed happy with it, but Sam had to get it all in the open. He had to know what Dean had done, he had to undo it before it was too late.  
"You know, Dean, that's something I don't get" he started, looking at his brother's face for reactions.  
"The demon said he wanted only one of us to walk out alive, he appeared to me in a dream. If he only wanted one of us, then how did Jake and I both get away?"  
Dean shifted like a trapped animal, his eyes wide and his brow furrowed. "Well-I mean, they left you for dead. I'm sure they thought it was over."  
Sam knew that even to his own ears those words must have sounded forced and fake.   
"Anyway, don't think about it now. You need to get your rest, we got time for-"  
"No, Dean, we don't! The fucking apocalypse is around the corner and you want me to rest?! Are you out of your mind?!" he snapped, turning and walking towards the door, but Dean grabbed his arm and hid his face against his neck.  
"Stop it, Sam, damn it" he hissed, pushing his chest again Sam's back. His heart was beating like crazy.  
"You almost died in there" his voice was shaking.  
"I mean, what would I have-" Sam turned abruptly, but Dean didn't lift his eyes, so he wasn'table to read the answer he needed so badly.  
"Can't you just take care of yourself for a little bit, huh? Just for a little bit. For me. For us, Sam, I still haven't-"  
And Sam knew that it would have been way too easy to just hug his brother back and let him take all the pain away... _just for a little bit._  
He stepped back.  
He didn't want the only thing he craved for all of his life to come with an expiration date.  
"I'm sorry. No. Come on, Bobby's only a few hours from here."  
  
*****  
  
If Sam had still had any doubts about his miraculous recuperation, Bobby's incredulous face when he saw them at his door would have been more than enough to make them all disappear.  
"Sam, is-is good to see you up and around" he greeted him, his eyes still wide.  
"Yeah, well, thanks for patching me up" Sam said, unable to hide the blatant mockery of the sentence, and hoping he hadn't been too obvious.  
Bob did probably notice something was wrong, though, because he arched an eyebrow.  
"Don't mention it."  
As soon as they entered, Bobby took Dean outside with some excuse, probably thinking Sam would have been too engrossed in the papers Bobby showed him to pay any attention to them.  
 _Wrong move_ Sam thought while he silently followed them.  
"You stupid ass, what did you do?!" Bobby shouted, shaking him violently.  
"You made a deal for Sam, didn't you?! How long did they give you?!"  
Dean tried to break free, but Bobby smashed him against one of the cars.  
"How. Long."  
"One year" he whispered, too softly for Sam to get if he hadn't been straining to hear it.  
"Dammit Dean" Bobby said, his eyes filling up with tears, and Sam retreated, his hands shaking.  
"That's why we gotta find that yellow eyed son of a bitch. That's why I'm gonna kill him myself. I mean, I got nothing to lose now, right?" he could hear Dean saying, in his smartass tone, and he didn't even try to stop his tears.  
His dad first, now Dean.  
It looked like both of them thought that the only way they could give a meaning to their existence was by sacrificing it for someone else.  
How could Dean not see how much he meant to Sam? How could he not realize that Sam simply didn't want to be in a world where his brother was not by his side? How could he possibly still have got that low an opinion of himself? Was he really that screwed in the head? What could Sam possibly do to make him see?  
"I couldn't let him die" Dean said, stopping Sam from walking away. "Bobby, I couldn't. He's my brother." That single word, dripping all the love Dean never had the possibility of sharing with him, hit Sam like a punch in the guts.  
"How is your brother gonna feel when he knows you're going to hell?" Bobby asked, grief in his voice.  
"The same he felt when he realized that dad went for him" Sam answered in a low whisper. He didn't want them to know he had been listening.  
"You can't tell him" Dean said, grabbing Bobby'as arm, looking at him with pleading eyes.  
"You take a shot at me, whatever you gotta do, but please, don't tell him. He can't know."  
Sam left a small, sad smile on his face.  
 _Too late, bro._  
  
TO BE CONTINUED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Coming Down From:** [ Nekane's shop ](https://www.google.com/maps?q=Nekane%27s+shop)  
> **Clawed Chained Heart:** creative  
>  **Under The Spell Of:** Helena Paparizou


	5. Wish I could stay (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He threw a last, desperate glance at his brother, hoping with all his heart that we would stop him, try to make him stay. God, he wished so much he could stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Dedications:** this belongs to [ wiccaqueen ](http://wiccaqueen.livejournal.com/) because she's incredible, amazing, sweet and the nicest person alive. May also be because she's making PODCAST of all the parts. *giggles* I still want to dedicate a little bit of it to [ cybel ](http://cybel.livejournal.com/) because hey, she did a COVER for Sammy (alone). I can't tell you how happy y'all make me, seriously.
> 
> **A/N:** so, this is it. My first long (sorta) wincest fic. I still can't believe I did it, I'm so proud of this *__* Thanks to all of you, for reading, commenting and helping me to get better. *big hug*
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE:** HEAVY SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 FINALE!!

They did it.  
They killed the Yellow Eyed demon. Their family quest was over.  
Unfortunately, Sam knew better than bathe in the afterglow. It was time to talk.  
"You know, Dean, when Bobby saw me it was like he saw a ghost."  
Dean shrugged, trying to cut it out.  
"Well, he probably didn't expect you to be up and about so soon, that's it."  
Sam tried again.  
"What happened after I was stabbed?"  
"I already told you."  
"No, Dean, you didn't. Not everything."  
Dean sighed.  
"Sam, the demon's dead, you're ok, we can finally be together...Can't we celebrate for a minute?"  
But Sam couldn't drop the subject, not again, he couldn't let it slide, not this time.  
"Did I die?" he asked, sharp and dry.   
"Oh, come on, no!"  
That denial felt like an admission, to Sam, and he could swear his heart stopped beating for a second.  
"Tell me the truth, Dean."  
His brother tried looking elsewhere, but Sam grabbed his chin and forced him to look back into his eyes.  
"Tell. Me. The truth."  
"Sam-"  
Sam closed his eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to spill.  
"You know what, Dean? I'm sick of your bullshit. You can't lie to me. And you know why? Because I know what happened. I know I died. And the reason why I know is that I dreamed about my death for days, weeks, even, before it happened, exactly as I did before Jessica died. I knew it all. That's why I told you how I feel. I knew we were never going to see each other again and I couldn't stand the idea of carrying the secret to the grave with me. So, now that we've established that you lied to me about the only thing you shouldn't have, I just miss one small detail. Did you sell your soul for me like dad did for you? How long did you get?"  
Dean looked like he was about to try and deny it again, but Sam's expression probably told him that keep on hiding it was not going to make any difference.  
"One year" he whispered "I got one year."  
Sam stood up and put some distance between them, because he wanted to punch his brother and then hug him until he couldn't breathe anymore, and that couldn't be healthy.  
"You shouldn't have done that" he whispered back "How could you do that?!" he added, his voice louder, bitter, hurt.  
"Don't get mad at me!" Dean shouted back "don't you do that! I had to! Don't you get it? I never had the chance to-answer."  
He didn't have to explain that statement. The guilt burned in Sam's chest when he had the confirmation that yes, it WAS his fault. If he hadn't open his goddamn mouth, maybe-  
"You weren't supposed to."  
"Sam. Hey, Sam, look at me." Only when Dean's hand grabbed his shoulder Sam turned his gaze up.  
"I had to look out for you. That's my job."  
Sam narrowed his eyes.  
"And what do you think my job is?" he asked.  
"What?!"  
"You keep saving my life, over and over. I mean, you always sacrificed everything for me. Don't you think I'd do the same for you?"  
His fingers cupped Dean's cheek, and if his brother felt them tremble slightly he didn't show it.  
"You're my big brother, Dean. That's **nothing** I wouldn't do for you."   
Dean leaned into his touch for a second, before snapping back.  
"Not this time, Sammy. If I try to get out of the deal in any way, you drop dead again. And I won't let it happen. I won't."  
Sam stepped back again, and without another word he got to the Impala and took his duffel out.  
"I won't stay here to watch you die, if that's what you're expecting me to do." he said.  
"If this is your decision, you're on your own. I prefer to be far, far away from you when you give up."  
He threw a last, desperate glance at his brother, hoping with all his heart that we would stop him, try to make him stay. God, he wished so much he could stay.  
Everything stopped for a second.  
The same disperation was mirrored in Dean's eyes, but he didn't move.  
He didn't.  
Sam lowered his face.  
"Goodbye, Dean" he said, before walking away.  
  
 _I'm under your spell;_  
God, how can this be?  
Playing with my memory?  
You know I've been through Hell:  
Dean, don't you see? There'll be nothing left of me...  
You made me believe.  
  
Believe me, I don't want to go,  
And it'll grieve me, 'cause I love you so,  
But we both know:  
Wish I could trust that it was just this once but I must do what I must,  
I can't adjust to this disgust we've done and I just wish I could stay.  
  
 **fin**  
  
*dries tears*  
Oh no! Sammeh!! ç_____ç  
Well, if y'all nice enough, I may consider the possibility of a coda...not a happy ending, because this is like an alternate season 2 finale, so there's still the 3rd season, and Dean's still gonna die in a year, so, yeah. But maybe I can give you some fluffiness to help you swallow the bitter pill? Only if you ask nicely enough, mind me XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Coming Down From:** [ home (ah!) ](https://www.google.com/maps?q=home+\(ah!\))  
> **Clawed Chained Heart:** melancholy  
>  **Under The Spell Of:** Under your spell/Standing


	6. Epilogue - Your biggest regret (mine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"If I could go back, I wouldn't change any of it. I do have one regret, though, the biggest one of all, actually."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Dedications:** Merry Christmas, [ wiccaqueen ](http://wiccaqueen.livejournal.com/)! This story is all hers, and I'm so insanely happy to be able to give her the epilogue as a Christmas gift :) She did make a Podcast of all the previous parts: I'll update them somewhere ^^
> 
>  **Disclaimers:** They're not mine. Not a thing about them is, apart from my obsession. That's all mine XD  
>  Fic inspired by "Goodbye", sang by Miley Cyrus, memories inspired by "Mia" by Gatto Panceri.
> 
>  **IMPORTANT NOTE:** HEAVY SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 FINALE!!

I could start acting all hurt and strong.  
I could lie and say I don't care, that this is better for both of us, that I expected to face the consequences of my acts by myself.  
Or I could suck it up and admit that you've been on my mind since I woke up today. Well, if I have to be completely honest, I think I dreamed of you too, but that's beside the point.  
I keep looking at the empty bed just as I kept looking at the empty seat next to me in the Impala, and all our memories come back to me.  
I remember when we had to stay hidden in the same motel room during 5 days, waiting for dad to come back.  
You fell asleep still dressed, so I took your clothes off and helped you into your pyjamas, you know, those you kept wearing until they ripped because they were too small for you, your favourite.  
I don't know why, but just after this memory the one of you leaving for Stanford comes to mind. The brakes screeched, and I stood there, watching that noisy, old bus taking you away. I should have stopped you then, I still wonder if things would have been different if I did.  
I remember our summers on long and sunny roads through the country, when we stopped and park the Impala next to the fields and just laid there, feeling at peace with the world.  
I remember when you asked me to try and ask you questions, when you where preparing for the final exam of your senior year: I never truly understood why you cared so much about the results you were going to get, since we were going to leave in a few days anyway, but it mattered to you and therefore it mattered to me. After that, I took you out on the iced lake and taught you how to iceskate. You fell on your ass more than it was probably healthy, but you kept laughing, and your cheeks were red, and...I simply wouldn't have wanted anything else from life.  
Then I remember holding your hand while you were laying on that old dirty mattress. I remember praying, screaming, hurting. I remember the physical pain the thought of you not waking up caused. I wondered about the meaning of it all: you loved me, and I loved you just as much. How could we possibly end like that? It didn't make any sense, because, Sammy, you're mine. I always felt it, and I know you felt it too.  
I felt it in your voice, when you whispered "I won't stay here to watch you die" and then you said I was on my own. You were lying, I'm sure of it, and you'll come back, sooner or later, because, as I said, you're mine.  
When you want it, when you feel like it, and you don't know how much, but you're mine.  
You'll come back to me.  
  
*****  
  
I woke up this morning and played our song while crossing the country.  
_I'm wanted dead or alive._  
I snorted at the irony of the situation, biting back the tears, and sang along. As soon as the song was over, I picked up the phone for the millionth time and then put it down again.  
I'm not supposed to call you, I'm not supposed to make this any more difficult for you, and honestly I don't mind having your memories to keep me company.  
I remember our only kiss: I'd say that I can still feel it on my lips, if that didn't sound that gay, I remember the way our bodies fit together perfectly, like following a predetermined path. I remember the simple things, the bickering, the laughs, I remember everything, I remember until I can't help crying and then I try with all my might to forget just one thing, one small thing, the one that hurts the most.  
_"Goodbye, Dean."_  
Looks like I can't, though. Your voice, your eyes, your back while you were leaving, I keep remembering it all way too clearly.  
Then, suddenly, my cellphone's ringing: I stop on the side of the road and take it out of my pocket.  
It takes me a moment to realize it IS my phone, because the ringtone is different from usual, then I remember changing it: this is **your** ringtone.  
I hesitate, but answer it anyway.  
"...Sammy?"  
"Hey, Dean."  
God, Sam, you sound so alone!  
I expect you to say anything but what you actually say.  
"I...Dean, you've been on my mind since I woke up today. I kept thinking about you, and how you're dealing with all this, and in the end I started to remember.  
Do you remember when I was little and we had to stay in that motel room for days, without being allowed to go out, because dad was hunting the Shtriga? I still remember the pyjamas I wore during those days: they were the first that were bought for me, the first ones that I wasn't wearing after someone else did: I was so happy.  
Then I remember my senior year at high school, and how you helped me studying even though you didn't understand a word, and how you tried to teach me how to iceskate after that: I kept falling, but I was still happy to be there, with you, just us. Maybe I should have understood right then that my feelings for you were a little stronger and ran a little deeper than they were supposed to."  
You go silent for a second, and I'm afraid we lost connection. Just when I'm about to say something, you start talking again.  
"I remember leaving for Stanford. I remember that the only thing I wanted was for you to stop me, to say that you didn't want me to go, that you needed me by your side. Just as I wanted you to do a few days ago, when I said I was going to leave you. Again. And again, you didn't stop me. Why you didn't stop me, Dean?"  
Your voice sounds so needy that I don't even contemplate not telling you the truth.  
"I could never take advantage of your feelings for me to keep you chained. You wanted to be free, you wanted to have a normal life, and God knows you deserved it. If I tried to stop you, I would have denied you the chance of being someone I knew you could become, and I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I did.  
The other day, what you said, you were right. I forced you to deal with a situation you didn't want and you chose to walk away, and I understood that was the right thing to do. That's why I didn't ask you to stay."  
_It didn't hurt any less, though_ I think.  
"But you wanted me to?"  
I'm surprised to hear you say that.  
"Wha- "  
"I remember when you kissed me, Dean. I still feel it on my lips. I remember when you hugged me, and how our bodies fused together. I remember everything, the simple things and the complicate ones, I remember your laughs and your tears, and you know? If I could go back, I wouldn't change any of it. I do have one regret, though, the biggest one of all, actually."  
I grab my phone with both hands, feeling that what you'll say next will decide our future.  
"The one thing I wish I'd forget is saying goodbye. I never really wanted to leave."  
My heart swells, and I make a sound that's something between a snort, a coff and a sob.  
"I never wanted you to leave either, Sam" I answer, feeling the weight on my shoulders lift slowly.  
"I don't care what it takes, Dean, I'm gonna get you out of this." Your voice gets softer. "Guess I get to save your ass for a change."  
I smile in the phone, and dry my face with my sleeve.  
"Yeah, looks like it. Now come back here, bitch, I miss you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Coming Down From:** [ House ](https://www.google.com/maps?q=House)  
> **Clawed Chained Heart:** blah  
>  **Under The Spell Of:** Gatto Panceri "dove dov'è"

**Author's Note:**

> [ **WE HAVE A PODCAST** ](http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wonznwfmto1).  
>  OMFG. *faints* [ wiccaqueen ](http://wiccaqueen.livejournal.com/) recorded it. It's the most beautiful thing ever. *cries*
> 
>  **Not Coming Down From:** [ Nekane's room ](https://www.google.com/maps?q=Nekane%27s+room+XD) XD  
>  **Clawed Chained Heart:** giggly  
>  **Under The Spell Of:** LaElle "Francesco"


End file.
